


Cider

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Can be read as gen or slash, Gen, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which hard cider can make a normally quiet Russian talk.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ksturf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksturf/gifts).



Napoleon now entered the apartment with his arms full of small bags of roasted chestnuts.

“I think I cleaned out that street vendor on the corner,” he said with a grin, as he poured the chestnuts into a glass bowl. “Did you get the cider?”

“ _Da,_ I did,” Illya said, handing him a glass with some cider in it. “How is it?”

“Well, it looks good,” Napoleon said. He drank a gulp of cider and then coughed, his eyes watering.

“Is it too strong?” Illya asked, concerned. “I was not pleased with the strength of it, so I added some vodka.”

Napoleon caught his breath and managed a patient grin.

“Illya…” he said. “I asked you to get _hot_ cider, not _hard_ cider.”

“That is exactly what I made—warmed and everything. Although I do not know why you want it warm; you will feel much warmer when you drink it, regardless.”

“Yes, but I asked for hot cider, not hot hard cider.”

Illya blinked, glancing at Napoleon in confusion, and Napoleon glanced back at him.

“Okay, I think _something_ got lost in translation…” the American said.

“Napoleon, go to any pub in Europe, ask for cider, and I _guarantee_ you that you will get this—except not warmed up,” Illya stated.

“See, we call that hard cider over here,” Napoleon said. “Hot cider is hot apple juice—you can get it spiced with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg… It’s a standard autumn treat. Goes well with roasted chestnuts.”

“I’m terribly sorry…” Illya said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I shall go make some for you, then.”

“Nah, you know what? We’re off tomorrow; this will be fine.”

Napoleon sat back on the couch and put his feet up on the table. Illya rolled his eyes and moved the bowl of chestnuts away from Napoleon’s feet to the other side of the table.

They ate and drank and talked--about the inevitable arrival of winter and about where their U.N.C.L.E-related travels would lead them next, but it was after a quantity of the cider had been consumed that Illya suddenly got very open about topics he normally didn’t bring up.

“Y’know, ‘Poleon…” he said. “You _astound_ me.”

“Thanks,” Napoleon mused. There was a noticeable blush on his face from the cider he had drank.

“I am happy,” Illya continued

“That I astound you?”

“ _Da_. I am happy with you here—you make things s’interesting. Life in Berlin was… routine.”

“You’ve got a _strange_ definition of routine…” Napoleon mused, chuckling into his glass.

“Outside of missions, nothing remotely interesting happened to me… Until I met you.” Illya took another drink of cider. “You have given my life a new meaning, ‘Poleon. We have been partners for nearly two years now, but it astounds me how I… How you have changed me…”

Napoleon idly tapped his fingers on his glass until he was suddenly aware of Illya looking at him intently.

“Sooooo…” Napoleon said, shrugging. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

“Both.”

“…Oh.”

“S’good because I cannot recall when I have been happier. S’bad because I am afraid of losing it… Losing you.”

Napoleon swallowed a lump in his throat; he hadn’t been expecting that. Illya rarely wore his heart on his sleeve, though a few drinks could get him to open up somewhat, but even during the times they drank together and Illya opened up, he had never said something so full of raw emotion.

“I…” Napoleon trailed off, shaking his head. “I dunno what to say. I can’t even promise you that nothing’s gonna happen to me.”

“Nor can I promise you. We cannot make such promises in our line of work,” Illya agreed. “But, still, you must know what… what I have to say.”

“Huh?”

“‘Poleon, you have done so much for me—taken me into your home here--”

“Well, you pay half the rent--”

Illya shushed him.

“Let me finish,” the Russian instructed. “And you also brought me into your family. You look after me when I am injured, and you do things like this…” He gestured to what remained of the cider and the chestnuts. “To make sure that I am happy. I am grateful; these gestures mean more to me than I let on. In fact, there are more things I wish to say to you that I do not let on.”

“I know,” Napoleon said.

“Hmm?” Illya asked.

“What you wanna say. I know,” Napoleon said, with a smile. “Because I feel the same way.”

Illya blinked a few times, but then managed a small smile.

“I knew, too.”

They talked a bit more until the drink made them weary; Illya slumped against Napoleon and was soon asleep, using his shoulder as a pillow as Napoleon supported him with an arm around him as he drifted off soon, as well.

The future was never certain, but for now, they would both cherish what they had.


End file.
